I am Gone
by uluvme-realornotreal
Summary: This is a story from the POV of Katniss's mother when the explosion happens. It is my first fan-fiction ever. But in this story, I do my best to explain why Katniss's mother acted the way she did.


My babies are playing in the soft and supple meadow. One, Katniss, is 11, and the other, Prim, is 7. I want the best for them. I want their world to be soft and full of light. They and my husband are my joys in life. They are almost all I have. As I watch them skip to school, it strikes me how perfect everything is. It scares me. It is too perfect.  
>My family isn't blessed. We aren't the richest. But we are one of the happiest. We have love. That is what's needed. I have seen families like ours, with hollow cheeks and tattered clothes. But upon their faces lie the worst tell-tale sign. They bear the marks of angry hands or puffy eyes from lack of sleep and tears. But most awful are the grimaces the little ones give. When you have a child, and at two or three she starts to grimace, death is coming. Because love is the only way to avoid death. And in harsh homes, death is waiting, lurking, in a shadowy corner where no love is to ever be found.<br>I am thinking about love and life and where my two beautiful daughters will go and who they will meet and what they will see when they grow up. And then I hear the sirens.  
>My blood curdles. The mines! The last time the sirens were used, an area of the mines had collapsed. I didn't have my babies then. But my husband worked in the mines. I remember standing there, waiting. No one spoke. No one moved. And hardly anyone dared to breathe, because as they drew a breath, their loved ones could be taking their last, far below the crowd above. I stood there, and watched as men were pulled out. First came the bosses, the ones too important to go far into the mines. I despised them for it. I hated them for endangering my husband's life. Then came the newer workers. They would be in farther after they gained more experience. Then, he came. And as the elevator, full of dust and grime, pulled him up, I didn't know who it contained. All I saw was the top of another sooty head. But he looked up, expecting me, and I was there.<p>

I cried. And washing down my face was the emotion of all present, for everyone had bottled their feelings up inside. I cried becaues he was out. I cried because others wouldn't make it out, and I cried for their families, suddenly high and dry and left to starve. He could have been lost. We stood there, holding each other, tear tracks leaving stripes on our faces, until the last man had been pulled out, dead or alive. Only a few dead bodies were found. The rest had been buried, with no way to get to them. They could still be alive. But in one more, pain staking breath, they would never be seen again.  
>The sirens wail again, yanking me back to the present. I forget the children and rush to the mines. The children know what to do. They aren't important. Katniss is a big girl. But my husband is in deepest. He is in danger. The silent procession begins. And now, I have a pit in my stomach. Because I know what can happen. Already, the tears fall, splattering the dirty ground long after I've left that section of the path. I whisper <em>Please. Please. <em> Because I don't want to be left, waiting, with no one there.

As I hurry, I notice many others doing the same. Their faces are as anguished as mine. _Rush, rush. Hurry. _The wind whispers it. The siren screams it. And anxious mothers cry it to young children slowly toddling along. I see it now. The mines. Already, I know something bad has happened.

One of the wives of my husband's coworker doesn't need the question. She holds me strong and says, "Oh, baby. You poor, poor thing. It'll be all right, in the end. They haven't pulled anyone out yet. But give them time." We are buffeted from the elevator by the mass of people waiting for the men. I am grateful for this woman, holding me tightly, to keep me from falling apart. Her round, pregnant belly bulges. She doesn't ask where the children are. I am glad. My voice has left me. I can only whisper or scream. And they haven't even started pulling bodies out yet.

Slowly, men start to rise to the fresh air via the elevator. The people here are silent. It is as if our hearts beat as one frightened rabbit's. The only sound to break through the air is the weeping of a woman whose husband has come up safely. One man is pulled up with only a bloody stump for his left hand. His wife takes one look at it and howls inhumanly. That man will never work in the mines again. He is a cripple. My heart leaps to my throat and I threaten to lose my meager breakfast. The woman's pain is mine. At least her husband came out in almost one piece.

The crowd thins slowly. At some point, I feel Prim slip her hand into mine. "Don't cry. It will be over soon." It is so backwards to hear her say that to me. I want to laugh. Then I remember where I am. And now, I cry even harder, despite Prim's protests. The wife whispers into my ear, "Hush, now. But baby, it wasn't a collapse. It was an explosion. But it's all right. Hush." And _my_ world explodes. Because, that means that my only hopes grow ever smaller. I can feel my soul drawing inside me, unresponsive to only my husband. When he comes out, so will I. Night falls.

And still, the crowd grows ever thinner. The amount of men at a time in the elevator dwindles. The wife still holds me. I am oblivious to her or my children. It doesn't even occur to me that her husband hasn't come out, either. I wait. And I wait. My heart beats frantically, trying to make up for those he may never have. Then, I hear a Peacekeeper call, "Those of you left, move aside. We're sending down the baskets!" Oh. My. God. The baskets are for those that can't walk up. Some are alive. But most are dead. The ones that come up now will come to me to be healed. Most will die. But if my husband doesn't come up, I will never open my doors again.

Even the wife starts to cry now. I don't notice the supply of children clustered around her. Together, we wait. I barely breathe. Make it stop. If he doesn't come out, right now, I will die. I will draw so inward...But I already have. I can feel my heart, my soul, my conscience, all buried deep inside in a tight knot. No longer can I hear the voice of my sweet Prim, attempting to bring me back. But I know she still calls. I hear the Peacekeeper. "Those left, I am sorry. Really."

And I hear the voice of someone screaming. I realize it is me. But one thing is clear; _He is gone. Gone. Never again will I hear his voice, or feel his touch. He is gone. _And I am gone, too.

**This is my first fan-fiction ever. Hope you liked it! Please review.**


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